MAGIC MAN (Stanley Donen: R.I.P.)

Few directors, producers or choreographers were responsible for as much Hollywood iconography as Stanely Donen, a master of all three roles, who passed away today at the age of 94.

Gene Kelly singing (and dancing) in the rain. Fred Astaire dancing on the ceiling. Gwen Verdon generating steam heat. Audrey Hepburn asking Cary Grant how he shaved in there. The Seven Brides being swung by the Seven Brothers. Donald O’Connor makin’ ’em laugh.  Kelly and Frank Sinatra hitting the town in their sailor suits. Hepburn catsuiting through a Paris nightclub in the name of Emphaticalism.

One could go on. Even if you’ve never seen the movies, most of those images will ring a bell.

With Kelly, he both reinvented the Hollywood musical and extended its natural lifespan by a generation, no easy task in a post-war era that already prized realism (if not cynicism) above all else. With Hepburn, he made a signature musical (Funny Face), a Hitchcock homage (Charade) that was better than all but a handful of the Master’s own and perhaps the best film anyone has made about marriage (Two for the Road), giving her a chance to do what everybody knew she could do and a few things nobody thought she could. Besides the superstars, Debbie Reynolds, James Coburn, Walter Matthau, Geoge Kennedy, Bob Fosse, were among the many whose careers got a jumpstart in Donen’s films.

And all of that happened because from the late 40s to the late 60s he had the surest touch in the game.

After that his career went into a tailspin, never to recover as we set about throwing everything away and forging our own way to Paradise without the benefit of what all the poor hidebound Past could teach us.

I’m betting whoever’s in charge of the next life is looking at his resume along about now and saying “Well, we can’t blame him.”

Never mind us, though. and what all we didn’t do. No future worth living in will forget him.

THE LAST TEN MOVIES I WATCHED….AND WHY I WATCHED THEM (July, 2018)

July 3-Three Days of the Condor (1975, Sydney Pollack, Umpteenth Viewing)

Because it’s still the best straight movie about the CIA (and all that it represents in a nonrepresentative “democracy”). Much as I’ve liked it over the years, it’s grown lately, I think because Faye Dunaway’s performance no longer seems like it belongs in another movie. The rest always fit. It might be Robert Redford’s best role/performance and the rest of the stellar cast (Cliff Robertson, Max Von Sydow, John Houseman) were never better. And to remind myself that we still haven’t figured out who watches the Security State while they are busy watching us.

July 3-The Hot Rock (1972, Peter Yates, 2nd Viewing)

Because I liked it just well enough when I watched it a few years ago to give it another chance and besides Illeana Douglas, who generally has impeccable taste, recommended it on her podcast. Good move. I can now count it as one of the few good adaptations of a Donald Westlake novel. Still not sure I buy Robert Redford as Dortmunder (if you’ve read the books you’ll know what I mean–he’s as miscast here as he was perfectly cast in Condor), but he gets by, and the rest works beautifully.

July 4-Drums Along the Mohawk (1939, John Ford, Umpteenth Viewing)

Well it was one of those July Fourths that happened to coincide with “time to watch Drums” moods. And I ask myself, yet again: Why is there only one great movie about the Revolution? Because nobody could imagine why another one was needed?

July 5-The Replacement Killers (1998, Antoine Fuqua, 3rd Viewing)

Because sometimes you just want to watch a movie while “Popcorn, got to be a mother for me!” plays in your head. If you ever get those moods, this is a real good one. And these days, you can wonder if Harvey Weinstein killed the box office to get back at Mira Sorvino, who, on this evidence, should have gotten her own action series.

July 7-Proof (2005, John Madden, 3rd Viewing)

For one of Gywneth Paltrow’s best performances (from the days when she was almost too good to be true), matched by a stellar cast. For one of the few movies about the life of the mind–especially the fine line between genius and madness–that works all the way through. For Hope Davis’s chilling, almost sympathetic, take on a middle class Iago. Why don’t I watch it more often? Watch it once and you’ll know why.

July 7-Diamonds Are Forever (1971, Guy Hamilton, Umpteenth Viewing)

My favorite Bond. Others are “better” of course (Goldfinger, From Russia With Love, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, maybe one or two of the later ones). But this one’s the meanest, most cynical, trashiest, least coherent. All the things I want most from Bond. The only fault is they needed more Plenty O’Toole. Of course they did.

July 7-D.O.A. (1949, Rudolph Mate, 1st Viewing)

Because this was one of the few top-rated films noir I had never seen. Talk about incoherent. But the atmosphere was everything everybody always said it would be and I’m a sucker for Edmond O’Brien, especially when the script and the lighting give his goofy melodramatic side a chance to run free. Plus it has a downer ending (surprisingly rare in noir), that you’re told is coming in the first moments and still packs a punch. Look for the great Neville Brand, minus his trademark gravel voice, in a chilling role as that rare movie goon who would give you the heebie jeebies if you met him in real life–not least because he’s the type you might actually meet in real life.

July 8-D.O.A. (1988, Annabel Jankel and Rocky Morton, 1st Viewing)

This was on a disc with the original D.O.A. but I might have watched it some time or other anyway. I’m an unabashed fan of Dennis Quaid’s wicked grin and Meg Ryan’s tousled hair. To tell the truth both have been used to better advantage elsewhere. This isn’t bad, it just doesn’t quite seem to have a reason for being. It can’t match the nightmarish qualities of the original (color doesn’t help) and Ryan is pretty much wasted in a tack-on part. Plus, Quaid’s character is one of those modern academic men who isn’t sure he wants to live anyway. Kind of takes the tension out of a movie about being dead on arrival. And did Dennis Quaid ever strike you as a guy who wasn’t sure he wanted to live? I didn’t think so.

July 8-Buchanan Rides Alone (1958, Budd Boetticher, 3rd Viewing)

Because it had been a while. It’s a measure of just how good the Scott-Beotticher westerns are that this is counted one of the “lesser” efforts. Lesser it may be, but it’s still hellishly entertaining, with Randolph Scott trading his trademark stoicism for a grin Dennis Quaid would kill for and making it work. Even so, it’s not a comedy. The plot is strong if elemental and Boetticher’s unabashed love for Mexico and its people (not to mention its honor code) will make you weep for a land where, these days, having a hundred or more political candidates murdered in a single election season isn’t even news.

July 9-Funny Face (1957, Stanley Donen, Umpteenth Viewing)

Because Audrey. Lots were better dancers, but, among Fred’s many partners, only Ginger was a better match for banter–and Audrey could always make you root for her beyond all reason, so her dancing has a poignant quality no others matched. Made because Astaire had held on to Daddy Long Legs for decades (until he was old enough for the part) and agreed to do it with Hepburn, who, at the last minute was unavailable (he did it with Leslie Caron instead and the world got a two-for-one deal that’s pretty wonderful). He still wanted to work with her and you can see how much fun it was for all concerned. Hepburn turned out to be just as good at “serious” parts as she was at romantic comedy. But this is the last time she was lit from within in the manner that made her a star.

Soon after, reality set in and the world of Three Days of the Condor hove into view.

More’s the pity.

Til next time….

FAVORITE FILMS….FOR EACH YEAR OF MY LIFE…BY DECADE…CUE THE SIXTIES

At least according to Terry Teachout, this idea has been going around. Terry’s own list is here (it’s a pretty good one). The idea is to take each year of your life and list your favorite film from that year.

For me, “favorite” is a simple concept. It’s whatever resides at the matrix of what I like the best and what has meant the most. I tend to emphasize this quality over what I think is “great” anyway (though, unsurprisingly, there is considerable overlap…we tend to elevate what we like, though I also like to believe that what we like can elevate us).

I want to drill down a bit, though (including links to those films I’ve written about at length and mentioning the close competition, when it exists), so I’m going to post these by decade…starting conveniently enough with the decade I was born in and am most fascinated by…

1960 The Apartment (Billy Wilder) (over Swiss Family Robinson and Psycho)

1961 The Guns of Navarone (J. Lee Thompson…and, for once, truth in advertising)

1962 The Miracle Worker (Arthur Penn) (over The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, Ride the High Country, Cape Fear, The Manchurian Candidate…I could go on. Easily the strongest film year of my lifetime.)

1963 Charade (Stanley Donen)  (over The Great Escape and Hud)

1964 The T.A.M.I. Show (Steve Binder) (Actually a strong year, but….no competition)

1965 A High Wind in Jamaica (Alexander Mackendrick) (over That Darn Cat and The Truth About Spring)

1966 Gambit  (Ronald Neame) (over A Man For All Seasons and El Dorado)

1967 The Graduate (Mike Nichols) (over Wait Until Dark, Hombre, Don’t Look Back and the Soviet version of War and Peace)

1968 Monterrey Pop (D.A. Pennebaker) (over Where Eagles Dare…Interesting decision if I took one of those liberties I’m prone to take and considered Elvis’ Comeback Special a film. Glad I don’t have to make it.)

1969 Medium Cool (Haskell Wexler) (over Support Your Local Sheriff...it was a very strange year.)

Overall, a strong decade. As will be the 70s. After that….dicey.

 

 

 

 

 

HAVING FUN WITH THE CELLULOID SIXTIES

TAMITICKET

Sheila O’Malley recently participated in–and linked to–an interesting poll of best/favorite movies from the 60’s that posted here.

I don’t do a lot of these, but this concept was pretty interesting, mostly because, well, the sixties are always interesting. Besides I haven’t done any autobiography for a while (and that’s what such lists always amount to) and this was something I could get my head around. There weren’t so many contenders it made my head swim (as would be the case in the forties or fifties or probably even the thirties). And there were enough that I cared about to make it worthwhile (as would not be the case from the eighties onward). The poll (which I recommend as interesting reading) had everyone put their choices in order, so I’ll do the same…albeit with commentary:

1) The T.A.M.I. Show (1964–Steve Binder): Greater in every conceivable way than A Hard Day’s Night, which is pretty great on its own. Binder, who directed Elvis’ comeback special among many other things, should absolutely be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. This would be a huge cultural touchstone if only for preserving a visual record of James Brown’s stage show, but it’s much, much more than that.

2) The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962–John Ford): The source of “Well, Pilgrim,” “You don’t own me,” “Print the legend,” and “Aren’t you proud?” As far as I can tell, everyone who wasn’t aiming for Lesley Gore’s demo pile mistook it for a film about the past.

3) The Miracle Worker (1962–Arthur Penn): For reasons I discussed at length here.

4) Medium Cool (1968)–Haskell Wexler): “The whole world is watching” side of the sixties rendered with harrowing immediacy.

5) The Graduate (1968)–Mike Nichols): “Plastics!” Funny line, sure, but it also feels more like the future we live in than anything else anyone was predicting at the time.

6) Swiss Family Robinson (1960–Ken Annakin): Laugh if you want. But Annakin spent the fifties honing a laughs-n-thrills approach that George Lucas and Steven Spielberg made fortunes and legends from a generation later. They’ve given him plenty of kudos and paid plenty of homage (including a lot of direct scene steals and, of course, Darth Vader’s real name). All to the good, but one thing they didn’t ever do was beat his time. (Besides which, Janet Munro was my first movie love, so leaving it off would obviously make me a churl and a cad.)

7) The Apartment (1960–Billy Wilder): I never quite bought that Shirley McClaine’s character would fall for a creep like Fred McMurray hard enough to attempt suicide over him, but, if it’s not quite perfect, this is still the only truly poignant romantic comedy outside of the truly perfect Roman Holiday.

8) The Truth About Spring (1965–Richard Thorpe): There are those who can contemplate a list of what’s best about the sixties without including a Hayley Mills movie. I’m the wrong age and temperament to be one of them, so I’ll just add that if J. Lee Thompson had been able to snag her for Cape Fear–a Divine Intention that was thwarted by a conflict between God’s schedule and Hollywood’s (which was resolved, as these things so often are, in favor of the latter), stung him (Thompson, though probably God as well) for the rest of his life, and, of course, greatly hastened the decline of Western Civilization–it would be on this list instead, and no worse than fourth. (That said: “Tommy…if you shoot Ashton, I’ll never cook for you again!” still slays me.)

9) Monterey Pop (1968–D.A. Pennebaker): The pinnacle of what The T.A.M.I. Show promised–and, with the soon-to-follow deaths of its most dynamic performers (Otis Redding, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin–the latter two already operating at a pace that any rational person watching this at the time must have known could not possibly be sustained)–the first step in the long fall from the mountain-top of the sixties’ dream.

10) Age of Consent (1969–Michael Powell): Features a very young Helen Mirren running around some South Sea paradise with little to no clothing on. Whether God or Satan was responsible for this particular aesthetic choice (which, as far as I’m concerned redeems the sixties all by itself) is obviously a matter for each person to decide in consultation with their own conscience. However, just “artistically” speaking, the beauty is that, either way, that single aspect surely redeems any and all shortcomings–real or imagined–for which this film (or this list!) might ever conceivably be held otherwise responsible.

60sAGEOFCONSENT

 

Honorable Mentions That At Least Crossed My Mind (In No Particular Order): Gambit (1966–Ronald Neame); El Dorado (1967–Howard Hawks); Charade (1963–Stanley Donen); Psycho (1960–Alfred Hitchcock); Ride the High Country (1962–Sam Peckinpah); Cape Fear (1962–J. Lee Thompson); The Great Escape (1963–John Sturges); The Guns of Navarone (1961–J. Lee Thompson); The Best Man (1964–Franklin Shaffner); Don’t Look Back (1967–D.A. Pennebaker); The Americanization of Emily (1964–Arthur Hiller): Dr. Strangelove: Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964–Stanley Kubrick); The L-Shaped Room (1962–Bryan Forbes)